People, your generosity is heart-warming and belly-filling. The donations are fluttering in like blossom in a Summerisle orchard. It makes a stark contrast with the mean royalty statements the music industry has just sent me. Perhaps we were right to murder The Man up on the hilltop.

Thank you, my fellow islanders!

Thanks for the wonderful birthday present, Momus! (It's the Buddha's birthday, too, you know.) Your Paypal check's in the mail...

This vaguely reminds me of something from my favorite folkie album, Mary Hopkin's gorgeously organic "Earth Song/Ocean Song," from 1971--though I know it's just the Incredible Momus Band. Anyone who somehow thinks Momus has "lost his touch" should be cajoled into hearing and appreciating this song's gentle interplay of wordplay and earplay.

Burn the wicker! Plant the barley! Dance the maypole!

dear nick,
it's always good to hear a new momus track. but hearing your voice accompanied by an acoustic guitar gives me always an extra shiver. and the manipulation on rice as world's no.1 food is also a topic that i can't keep cool on.
concerning the correlations between world hunger and the biotech companies that deal with the genetic manipulation on the varieties of rice i can recommend margarete visser's book "much depends on dinner". an amazing excursion through the history and mythology of an ordinary meal: corn, chicken, lettuce, rice and ice cream.
i've donated my euro and hope for more mp3s in the future...
by the way: what happened to your version of the cheburashka theme song?
all the best
eRiC / bErLiN

Just for you, Eric, here is my version of the Cheburashka song:

Cheburashka Song

It's an instrumental, so you'll have to sing it yourself:

My story is a strange one
My species -- I don't have one
I'm in between a monkey
And a little bear
My name is Cheburashka
Your little friend from Russia
Someone find me
Or else I won't be here

The zoo just wouldn't have me
My future was so lonely
Until I met the lady
And the crocodile
They call me Cheburashka
A little friend from Russia
Friendship, friendship
Makes everything okay!

My name is Cheburashka
This lady is Natasha
Gena, Gena, is the crocodile

spasiba nick
(also in the name of little roxy who loves this song)
eRiC

Cheburashka song is so awesome! If you added lyrics into the mp3, I'd definitely pay more moneys! So good!

A good song is worth €0.80 of anyones money.

As always...thank you Nick.

This song is too lovely. And I adore the cap. I would willingly donate to your fund, but my bank account is presently as empty as a eunuch’s trousers.

It's wonderful – thank you! I always like a healthy dose of paganism with my Easter season.

I am downloading the song right now, but the lyrics alone!!! Wonderful! They really remind of... the paper houses i was reading about this morning, but dyed mustard yellow in the early seventies...
We're all John Barleycorn
We're all one in the old religion
!!!

Nick,
Lovely mix of elements in the new song.
Surely this is the future. Why wait for the old forms of distribution. I like having an artifact in the form of a CD, but hearing something where the paint is still wet is very appealing. I think you should do more of this. You certainly have patrons here who will support this endeavor. Artists now have the means of production and now the way to distribute their work. I hope this won't end up on Kazaa. Thanks for sharing. Richard G

GREEN, THE COLOR DIVINE
Or, A Fantastical Encounter with an Inordinately Haughty Floral Herald, in the Manner of Baudelaire (A Roman à Clef).

One dreary, cold day in early Spring, I was presiding over my office as flâneur, taking my daily constitutional through one of the city’s parks. Upon preparing to take my leave of such bleak surroundings, my gaze was caught by a small sprig of crocus that had impaled a slab of gray snow. Intrigued by this lone act of defiance, I knelt down to better study this intrepid harbinger of cool rains. As I sat by its side, I could hear these faint, but zealously uttered, words:

“All hail blessed Green, author of the grassy pudenda upon which I now lie, nuzzling the musk of the loamy Earth! I sing of Green, the handmaiden of Persephone, who, at this very moment, dances like Loie Fuller before the divine procession’s long ascent from the depths of the Netherworld, stirring the burrows of sleeping woodland creatures with her footfalls and illuminating the icy soil with her vernal blooms. Green needs no hands, for her million-fold fingers are found on every growing thing, placing each sleeping bud in its setting like a jeweler. The sight of her graceful hues lulls the screeching winter owls into silence, for Green is the bringer of balance, the very essence of harmony and subtlety. From her voluptuous form emerges a warm, translucent bounty, making the world anew!

“Aphrodite, goddess of Love and Beauty, was born out of a frothy sea of Green, and the emperors of ancient China, upon their deaths, were buried in priceless, jade-plated suits of the most exquisite—yes—Green! As the color of Life, only Green possesses a scent and taste; to eat or drink Her is to pray at Her altar. Green is the linchpin of light, providing within Her a venue for Serene Blue and Joyous Yellow to sing their glorious duets. Green relishes the intricacies of Her supporting roles, rarely taking the spotlight for Herself—but hollow would be the glory of a brightly-hued flower if not perched upon its cool, abiding pedestal of Green!

“Green’s legendary restfulness alleviates all manner of pain; She soothes teething infants, reduces the suicides on London’s Blackfriars Bridge, and is found upon the shoulders of physicks. And, contrary to the rants of conspiracy theorists, Green is not made of people!

“Oh, Bewildering Green! Natural and artificial! Comforting and sinister! Holy and perverse! Peace, Fertility, Jealousy and Hate all reside within Green’s voluminous cloak, as does her handsome brood: Chartreuse, Kelly, Lime, Moss, Forest, Apple, Hunter, Beryl, Peacock, Teal, Mint, Aquamarine, Olive, Emerald, Jade, Acid, Sage, Patina, Alpine, Turquoise, Fern and Viridian!

“All things bearing Green’s mark enjoy the favors of Heaven: wet grass, leaves, and sinuous vines; the sea; virginity; marble; forests; curry; seaweed; Aubrey Beardsley’s hair; pears; hummingbirds; laurel wreaths; envy; glass; sweet peas; parrots; Wilde’s carnations; garlands; mint chocolate chip iced creams; bell peppers; bile; mistletoe; bronze statues; eyes; katydids; tea; Whistler’s famous Peacock Room; chives; candy-coated, pill-shaped aphrodisiac chocolates, and the fabled milkshakes of St. Patrick!”

The lavender bud then turned to me:

“Lo, mortal: the slabs and rivers of stone your kind has etched upon Green’s dominion are but an obscene folly that shall one day be shattered to pebbles by the ceaseless prying of dandelions; Green’s carnal union with Relentless Time ensures that your abominations shall be as a sheet of paper pierced by a million needles! Go now, wispy son of Cain, and prepare for the return of the Eden you have so ungraciously spurned!”

I then arose, tipped my hat and went on my way—with a freshly picked crocus upon my lapel.

W

BTW: Is that wonderful, jaunty hat of wicker? I certainly hope so--mine is a converted orchid pot.

Thank you, Whimsy, your rococo entertainment has afforded me copious joy, calling to mind Mr Jarman's meditation on all hues of blue, from cerulean to meridien. Like you, Mr Jarman was a master of decoration, and seemed able to reach back not just to Yellow Book days, but far beyond, to ancient pagan pleasures or the Silver Age.

The nice thing about the past is that there is so much of it, don't you think? And more each day. The man of exquisite taste of our time, he fortunate enough to possess that voluptuary requisite, a well-stocked library, may pick and choose from every era in search of materials with which to build Sybaris, his city of pleasure. By the way, are you an admirer of Dame Edith Sitwell?

(My hat, by the by, is of common straw, not wicker. It was acquired from a Chinaman in San Francisco for a mere bagatelle. Its distinction comes from a most ingenious folding design which allows it to be assembled like origami then folded quite flat. Here in Berlin, however, I have seen a most splendid pair of wicker breeches in an outfitter's in Kreuzberg. Only a fear of cheek-searing public humiliation has prevented me from purchasing and wearing them. But, as Mr Ant reminds us, 'ridicule is nothing to be scared of'. If only I could bring myself to believe it!)

It is the duck-like curve of the bill and it's planar ribbing that is so appealing. I am intrigued as to the manner in which it is constructed. Fascinating.

Wicker breeches? Claim the Grail, young Perceval--although I would not advise steeplechase in such a garb. Strange how shirts, jackets and hats provide more social lattitude than pantaloons or breeches. I wonder if they come in a 30-inch inseam...

Serendipity is all over this post: Mr. Ant's song has become a sort of ad hoc anthem for our Order, coincidentally named the Bagatelles. You simply must do your own rendition of this perennial--with your own witty variations, of course. Perhaps in the manner of Saki?

Vive la bagatelle,
Whimsy
(Founder, Hermetic Order of the Bagatelle, aka: "The Limp Panthers")

The pleasure is mine, sir. I apologize for being so presumptuous as to trespass upon your journal with such an intrusive flotilla of words.

Your observation is a perceptive one. Indeed, I would never be so bold as to claim to be a "man of letters"; I am but the merest of stylists, an avatar of Pleasure. I find your characterization of my playful trifles as being an amalgam of the neolithic and aesthetic to be a most flattering and resonant one, for both are central themes to my work and person. (What a marvelous thing it is to wear one's favorite waistcoat whilst wiggling wet toes in the sweet summer grass, or to buff one's shoes in the midst of a garter snake basking in the light of the golden star which begat you both! Such is the essence of Affected Provincialism: green men and wodehouses that wear canes and straw hats, reading Swinburne, cleaning fossils, inventing nonsensical heraldic devices and penning naughty limericks. Animistic refinement? Precambrian sybarites? Neolithic thrilletantes? Oh my, yes.)

I confess that I know only the rudiments of Mr. Jarman's oeuvre, but I shall endeavor to remedy my ignorance; he seems to have been a kindred spirit (the man was a gardener, after all).

Oh, I couldn't agree more that we should all dance jigs amongst the hard-won treasures left by our forbearers--it is our birthright, and enrichment for all lies within its glorious strata. Let us enact holidays whereby the public lovingly empty the museums, and dance down the thoroughfares of our towns with the treasures of yore upon our shoulders; a gesture of gratitude to those who came before us! Let it be written into our municipal codes that one who eats the skin of an apple but leaves the rest to rot is engaging in criminal folly!

The balance betwixt an appreciation for continuity and nostalgia is a precarious one, no? But then, what is Time, really? If we can play with Time in musical endeavors, then one cannot help but wonder if in what what other ways might Time serve us.

Yes, Dame Edith's poetic imagery is truly an inspiration, to be sure. I have not read her entire body of work, but what I have read has left me utterly charmed. I suspect she shall become indispensable to my happiness. Again, I benefit from your erudition.

--Beau Hummel

I merely want to second Momus's recommendation of Dame Edith, m'lord. She is my muse, my mentor, my empress. Get yourself a megaphone and try some orat-aoke: "In the early spring-time, after their tea, Through the young fields of the springing Bohea... "

Attached is a link to a short video pastorale: http://www.lordwhimsy.com/trifles/index.html

Downloading might take a few minutes, but the patient shall see highwheels, wooded glens, sabretooth tiger skulls and a comically inaccurate approximation of absinthe.

W

Amazing synchronicity ... but's it's the season for planting
after all.

My weekend plan is to attend a two day workshop in southern
Nara on natural rice farming by a disciple of Masanobu Fukuoka
(of the "One Straw Revolution").

And plant some rice with a girl I met at the end of my
annual meditation retreat. She gave up the rat race in Tokyo to get into natural textiles, organic farming, and insight meditation.

It's a wonderful song.

I'd willingly give you money for this Momus, but I don't like
using paypal. How about an IOU for the next time you're in Kyoto? I'll buy you lunch at one of my favourite organic vegetarian restaurants.

Done! I will wait on the Kitayama-Ohashi Bridge asking every gaijin I see 'Are you Anonymous? How about lunch?'

Nice work, Nick. Spend my Euro wisely!

If I may make a suggestion: Any song you publish in this way will be shared around whether you like it or not. It might end up on Kazaa, or it might just be forwarded from friend to friend to friend. Many people listening to the song might not have any idea where it came from.

With that in mind, you might want to attach meaningful ID3 tags to your mp3s. The only information you included with this file was the name of the song. Why not add the artist name, your website address, and some comment text that lets listeners know that you'd appreciate a donation if they like the song? You can even attach cover art to the file if you like.

It's real easy to do: Before you upload it, just click on the song in your iTunes library (you'll have to add it to your iTunes library first, of course), hit Command-I, and fill in the relevant information. Then upload it as usual.

Apologies if you already knew this and have your own reasons for not doing it, it's just always confused me that you post mp3s without including this kind of information.

Wishing you fame, wealth and happiness,
rich

Doh, meant to include the following apposite quote in previous msg:

Chinese whispers was an analogue game
Where the signal degraded between brain and brain
Digital whispers is the same in reverse
The word we spread gets better, not worse

That is so blindingly obvious that I hadn't even thought about it! Thank you, Rich.

you have been paypaled. i can't wait until the new album is released next year!

nice! definitely worth a $.
And what Rich said.Some additional information on the file sounds like a good idea.

technical: vocals not too loud, analog-like scratchies
musical: daisy chained vocals on the last chorus, the flute, no big obvious samples, prance-able
lyrical: a nice play between the macro and the micro, the moon, the scarecrow's eye
personal: listening takes me back to the early days on the 'farm', the 60's love commune i grew up on, a farming community of 1300.

thought: there weren't any cars on Summerisle

I just wanted to say thank you again to everyone who's contributing. I consider this experiment a success and will keep posting songs. The one I'm working on now is 'Robin Hood'. It should be online within the next day or so.

i've adored you for forever and a half,
and i just found out you have a livejournal.
i hope you do not mind
that i have added you.

Hi. I run an MP3 downloads indie music 'zine on livejournal.
negative_utopia
I was wondering if I could post some of your songs...
For some songs you request paypal donations and I didn't know how you felt about those songs being posted in the journal.
let me know what you think
thanks
Pippin

Pippin, I'd rather just keep them here, if you don't mind.

Not a problem at all.
Thanks for getting back to me.